The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,101

the family room.

I parked, cut the ignition, grabbed my bag and hauled ass.

When I hit the foyer, Izzy was coming out of the family room.

I heard no happy party noises of people eating, drinking and bustling in the joyful holiday.

I didn’t even hear any Christmas music, and Toby was supposed to be on that.

I just saw Izzy’s face.

And I stopped dead.

“Where’s Brooks?” I asked.

She was coming my way, but she tipped her head to the side toward the family room.

“In with the men. He’s fine, Addie. Perfectly fine.”

She was talking quiet.

“Where is everyone?” I queried.

She stopped in front of me, reached out and grabbed both my hands.

It was then I saw the tears shimmering in her eyes.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

My fingers spasmed around hers.

“Talk to me,” I begged in a whisper.

“Margot has cancer,” she whispered back.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

“Toby wanted to tell you, but he’s . . . he’s . . .” She shook her head. “They’ve both taken it really hard.”

Why all their sons were here for Christmas.

Why Dave was in a terrible mood.

Why we needed to have everything sorted for Izzy’s wedding way before it actually needed to be sorted.

“They . . . because of Mom, I talked them into letting me tell you,” she said.

I stood still, holding her hands, staring at her face.

“She wasn’t going to tell them until after the holiday,” Izzy continued. “But she told Lance and Dave Junior last night. They were . . . Johnny told me they were destroyed,” she shared. “Couldn’t hide it. It came out.”

They were destroyed.

Cancer could be beat.

Except some of it.

That my sister and I knew all too well.

And her sons were destroyed.

OhGodohGodohGod.

I took one hand from hers and slid it along her cheek, getting close.

“How are you?” I whispered.

A tear fell from her eye.

She didn’t have to answer.

But she said, “Devastated.”

I slid my hand back into her hair and pulled her forehead to mine.

We stood there, my hand in her hair, our hands clutching each other’s, stared into each other’s eyes and breathed deep.

Then abruptly, I let her go, ran down the hall and into the family room.

I skidded to a halt when I got there.

Johnny was ass to the edge of the seat in the armchair, turned toward Toby.

Toby was in the couch, his back to me.

“Baby,” I called.

Toby twisted. Both men looked to me and both men rose.

Toby was holding Brooks.

Brooks was quiet, and I could tell, fretting.

He felt the vibe.

I felt it too.

But I saw it in Toby’s face.

OhGodohGodohGod.

Oh my fucking God.

“Please come here,” he said quietly.

As fast as I could, I went there.

His arm came around me, my arms went around him, and we crushed Brooks between us.

Brooks patted both of us where he could reach and started fretting more.

“Are you okay?” Toby asked.

“Are you okay?” I asked back.

“Not by a long fucking shot.”

“Oh, honey,” I breathed out.

“Mama,” Brooklyn said.

I took my boy from Toby, snuffled his neck, breathing him in, holding him close.

Toby wrapped his other arm around me.

“Safari dinner’s off,” he said.

I pulled my face out of Brooks’s neck and looked up at him.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Iz and Johnny are spending the night.”

Loved ones close.

Their first Christmas together, my sister and her man couldn’t wake up in their own place, with their own tree, make love, exchange intimate presents and then come over, like I suspected they’d planned to do.

That sucked.

But loved ones close in times like these.

Johnny cleared his throat and we broke apart.

Izzy was right there, handing me a glass of wine.

“We made the spinach puffs anyway,” she said. “I’ll put them in in a bit.”

I nodded.

Looked to Johnny.

He knew what I wanted because he gave it to me without me asking.

“It isn’t good, darlin’,” he said gently. “She’s been doin’ chemo now for weeks. It isn’t working. She starts radiation after Christmas. It’s the kind that’s so intense, she can never have radiation again. They still don’t have good thoughts.”

I wanted to . . .

I wanted to . . .

I wanted to have my mother’s iron will and stand strong.

But I couldn’t.

I folded.

Setting my wine down on the coffee table with a rattle, ass to the couch, gripping my baby boy to me.

He started squirming, making noises like he was going to start crying, and I found him gently tugged away by Johnny, but I was tugged into arms that belonged to Toby.

I turned into them.

“I should be . . . should be comforting you,” I said.

“You are, lovin’ her this much.”

I pulled away and lifted my hands to his face, stroking them back, again